stories & binge thinking
Covid has finally caught up with me. Confused at why I was awake at four in the morning on Sunday, watching Bullitt instead of sleeping, I idly took a covid test, and the rest is history. So I’m sequestered in my attic, like a certain Mrs Rochester, having tried and failed to pass as normal... Continue Reading →
Well, I left the printing shop with a huge cardboard box full of 1,800 pages of dead tree, but thankfully my wallet was suddenly a lot lighter so I didn’t notice the terrible weight too much… It’s been a terrible wait to get this far already, of course… oh Ian, you delightfully whimsical procrastinator… The... Continue Reading →
"Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived at the end of the world. She lived in a shack with her father and her brothers, a stone's throw from her best friend. The desert she lived in was the only desert in her country; it was as far away as you could... Continue Reading →
In this world you must be Editor or Edited
Odd thing. It’s finally the holidays. Not for me - I just had to take a week off on sick so my nose is to the grindstone for the foreseeable (I’m a Grindstone Cowboy - I am a Grindstone for the County…) but the Small Boys Who I Love have crossed the finish line; they... Continue Reading →
Today they stole an hour from me. No wonder my hangover was still there when I woke up this morning. So Mr Ripley the cat and I have stolen an hour back. A glass of wine, no more than two momentos mori, some AstroTurf liberated from a seventies greengrocer and the new Margaret Atwood. Margaret... Continue Reading →
I saw a nuthatch this morning. It’s not a very common bird in these parts - a little smaller than a blackbird and a little like a woodpecker, with a sturdy beak, the blue grey back of a blue tit, the washed out red belly of a robin in disguise, and a slash of black... Continue Reading →
About six years ago I was starting to get over being quite ill, and I had the idea for a series of stories about a disastrous witch who thrived on radical, infectious and transformative catastrophe… she was Ms Bones and there was glamour in her cadaver… After a few years of trying to make those... Continue Reading →
I want to assure you that I have never skinned dogs alive, or burned cats. And I regret that I cannot prove that I am naturally blond… I got distracted and put down Arthur Gold and Robert Fizdale’s effervescent and wise biography of Sarah Bernhardt, the most captivating and glamorous actress of her many days.... Continue Reading →
Wood smoke on chilled air. Sunlight on still water. Bird song in bare trees. Spring flowers cresting black mud. This morning I saw a bee, watched a lamb. Tomorrow
mr carapace 